Slug.

Nik had mentioned something to me after class that got me thinking...not in a negative light...but just thinking none the less. He said that I somehow always feel detached from my work when it is complete. That my pieces as far as he has seen have been just another assignment to me. And although I hate to admit it he is tapping into some truth. I have a tendency to throw myself into a piece to where I am out of this world until it is complete. I will sit for hours upon hours with no break or communication with the outside world tediously working and I won't quit working until it is done. So when it is time for critiques it is not necessarily that I am detached more so as I am just tired of it. There is also this whole idea of knowing that I am eventually going to have to give it away or destroy it...so why become attached?

Tubular.

I had a nightmare about the youtube video that was shown in class...I just thought you should know....if that was the artist's intentions bravo. It scared the crap out of me...maybe not as much as the upcoming election...but darn close.

Cents.

I am extremely private when I work on my art...I really don't favor doing things in class as much as outside of it. It may fascinate some...but it makes me nervous when I am being watched. I think the main annoyance I have noticed is people love to comment on the way they want the piece turning out....and trust me...I will always disappoint. Don't get me wrong I really appreciate comments but I like them more after I have stretched every idea out of my own brain first, it is afterall MY art.

Belly.

The more self checkout lines we expose ourselves to the less human we become. 

Fail.

I have been working on my project for awhile now and realize that it is not the direction I wanted to go at all. I took a chance to just go down to the hardware store and buy materials that are foreign to me. For once I didn't have a sketch...a well executed plan...a burst of inspiration. I just started to weave. To sew. To be undecided up till the very end. And when it all came together I despised it. I felt like it was a failure. But I loved the fact that I now know how I need to work as an artist. I realized that I can never be one of those people who just starts...who jumps into the unfamiliar and comes out smelling like roses. Structure...plans...sketches these are what is the difference between my failures and my successes.

Kinky.

First off I would like to say that if any of you still read this or missed me I am back. I have been writing down shinninpits (is that even a word?) in my journal and now have time to post them. Good times will be had by all.

Curtain.

Whoever started the phrase "Everything has already been done" is a liar...especially when it comes to the arts.

Thats all I have for today amigos.

Material.

At this moment in time I really could careless if people enjoy what I make or not. Maybe that makes me selfish but it also makes me the artist and you the viewer. My art is thoughts and ideas that have no other way of escaping my body but through paint, clay, and gestures. I wonder what it is like for those who don't have a passion for the arts...where do their ideas go? Or do they ever leave the body? It must be troublesome to have all those emotions and nowhere to put them.

I just realized that I may need art more then art needs me.

Pepper.

I want my life to begin with once upon a time. All the tales worth telling begin with once upon a time and I want my life to be no exception.

Mistake.

"Do not defend your [art]. This is your chance to sit back and to observe what [viewers] make of your [work]. It is not the time to tell them that they have misunderstood it or to otherwise try to defend it. In the “real” world, you will not be able to follow your [art] around and explain it or answer criticism. If [viewers] do not understand what you have [done], you need to ask yourself whether that is because they are weak [viewers]... or whether it is because there is something in your work that is confusing, unclear or just plain mistaken. While you cannot really control [viewers], you can make your [artwork] clearer, easier to read and more persuasive without sacrificing integrity. In the process, you will become a better [artist]."- Michael Pettinger

Boring.

My pictures bore me at times.

But that is life.

Heater, hinges, and all.

Tiki.

Somebody I love sent this to me...I don't think they realized how much I really needed this....or atleast the thought behind it.

Do you ever stare at something like this and wonder how it makes it into becoming mass produced and sold? Whos idea was this? Is this considered art?

Peace.

I remembered that it was September 11th about five minutes ago...I feel like a bad person.

Postal.

Everyday occurences...

• Alarms never seem to be loud enough
  
• Socks never match (unless it is your lucky day)


• Keys always sink into black hole that is your bag.


• Furnace sounds of cat or small rodent dying just as you are going to bed.


• Computer crashes during blogging (not bitter)


• The UPS man always comes the hour you leave for class.
  
  Solutions...

• Get more then one alarm or don't fall asleep.


• Who cares...shoes go over them anyway.


• Quit caring around a black hole....freak.


• Don't use the furnace...or it is work order time. Yey. Ugh.


• Appearently that blog was not meant to be published move on...and buy a mac next time.


• Stalk them...or campout by your front door till they decide to grace you with their presence.

Screw.

I interacted with

69 doors

3 elevators

159 stairs

2 cars

1 bus

8 ramps

All to get where I needed to be today.

I wonder what kind of toll all of this is taking on my body and the environment around me?

Inventory.

7 cups 3 dresses 3 printers 1 empty fish tank 5 keys 11 coats 1 Ipod 1 lucky Buddha 24 vitamins 10 jeans 1 desk lamp 6 ice cubes 2 blank canvases 1 bed 2 hair straighteners 5 forms of ID 13 shoes 8 sponges 6 ice cubes 9.5 pair of socks 1 toothbrush 2 cartons of Soymilk 1 tea set 38 paint brushes 5 pillows 3 Rolling Stone Magazines 351 markers 2 cameras 4 bowls 10 different shades of red nail polish 8 bags 3 scarfs 1 pair of Ray Ban Wayfarers 1 laptop 10 art journals 31 tubes of paint 5 keys 54 shirts 4 plates 1 desk... These are just things... why do we put so much importance on possessions? I would give it all up...except for the Ray Bans.

Killer.

I will never understand...

Golf on TV
Car alarm...I have yet to see one actually serve its purpose.
The miracle of life
Racism
Tanning beds
Phelps dolphin like characteristics
Leashes for toddlers
Chia pets
Scenic paintings
Celebrity obsessions

Smirk.

Next time you walk by someone...smile.

It may mean alot more to someone then you think.

People don't smile enough anyway.

I also think that is worth noting that all of the pictures that are posted are of my environment
and the room that I am doomed to for the rest of the semester.
I found that taking pictures helps my space feel bigger...and not just a cubicle.

Sizzle.

I like to wear sunglasses in grocery stores and see the pissed off reactions of people.

Why are they upset when I wear sunglasses inside?

Is it intimidating or is it making them uncomfortable?

And if it is making them uncomfortable....why?

Also why is Thursday nights considered Fridays here?

When did this rule start and when will it stop?

Blah.

It was an inspiring day...I was just too out of it to notice.

Two observations that somehow managed to catch my attention were...

• Everyday at five thirty like clockwork the smokers at my dorm come out of hiding to smoke together. They huddle around in a circle and enjoy eachothers company for ten minutes and then peace out. I feel like it is a secret club...but you have to be a smoker to be even glanced at. If I didn't gag at the smell of it I would take it up just for the secretive conversations.

• I was following a car today from Idaho that had a bumbersticker that said "I love my wife". That just made me really happy.

Diamonds.

"It's not your painting anymore.

It stopped being your painting the moment that you finished it."

-Jeff Melvoin

I am constantly reminding myself of this truth for the first project.

The reality is this...

My piece is no longer going to be mine...fine.

I will no longer have a say in what they do...errrr fine.

And honestly...

I don't want a say in what they do.

Who am I to tell you how you should interact with art?

What is the point if there are rules?

You may as well be handing over your piece along with

a list of instructions on what to do and what not to do.

Let it go.

Trix.

So the ipod and I reunited (I couldn't stay away).

Here is a list of random song lines that I have been listening to.

Cheesy, but I feel a necessity on my blog.

What is the connection that some studio artists seem to have with their music?

It is like our drug...our fix...our inspiration while we ourselves are trying to inspire through paint, clay, and paper. At times I feel as though the artist is no longer me. Rather the band and lyrics I am listening to should take all the credit.

• Who made up all the rules? We follow them like fools.
• The madness you feel will soon subside.
• Everyone you know will someday die.
• We walk around pretending we're all grown up.
• Nobody knows you and nobody gives a DAMN.
• Live fast and die young.
• Hoping that an unknown force can repair things for you.

• You wasted life, Why wouldn't you waste death.
• You can't always get what you want.

• While we're on the subject, Can we change the subject now?
• The worst part is there is no one else to blame.
• Soon everybody will ask what became of you.
• Whats the point of holding onto what never gets used?
• I'm gonna buy a gun and start a war if you can tell me something worth fighting for.

So which is better....my world and the convos without the ipod that I posted a couple of days ago, or the convo that I found within my own headphones? Which is real and which is fabricated? Or are they one in the same?

Filler.

Everything must have a purpose.

Your actions, your thoughts, your art. No longer is beauty or the asthetic of an object the main goal. If it doesn't have meaning it becomes meaningless.

Purpose is tiring.

I miss making the art just because it is there and it was created. Now you have to have an essay and bibliography to back up your insanity. Which trying to make sense of the insane is a project in and of itself.

Moving on with life.

I have been observing and writing more...but it is not complete so instead here are two short questions that I, eventually in time, will be able to answer for myself.

• What is mightier? The brush or the sword?
  
• What is the requirement for art to be, well, art?